not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

colour

we drive along beside the field trying to capture the colour




but as soon as we stop the colour dissolves, or rather it becomes its singular parts, paltry sticks of grey and orange.



but as we were moving it was a distant blaze; it was a quiet inferno in the eye that threw out the eye and descended into the heart; it recognized something in the vein.


but standing here amongst the sticks i am lost; i have not arrived.


and so where does colour live?




move, young girl. run! faster! and don't look back. there is a wolf chasing you into existence;  it gives you everything you'll ever love.



14 comments:

  1. we move from moment of creation to moment of creation. where is the next one? over there! let's go!

    i'm mesmerized by this - especially the fourth shot. in my mind it's not at all trees seen through the hands of their brother, but lizards drawn on a rust colored rock in some archaic act of creation, the full meaning of which is lost to us now, except in the deep, with our eyes slowly adjusting to the blessed darkness.

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    1. ! andreas, i am continually amazed by what we think we see and by what we don't see at all. i completely missed the lizard hieroglyphics! how is that possible?

      blessed darkness))))

      xo
      erin

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  2. Colour demands attention, doesn't it?
    We are posed to chase it, no matter where it leads us.

    Is that LittleRedRidingHood chased by the wolf? Or any one of us mesmerized by our cravings?

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    1. colour is an elusive thing, rosaria, especially in nature. (perhaps we have bastardized it with crayons and paint chips or at least given ourselves the illusion of understanding it). just try to nail down any one colour. for me it is impossible. it is like a word is to a thing, a metaphor only.

      but it is the momentum which makes it real, not being stationary and trying to nail it down, as andreas says, "we move from moment of creation to moment of creation".

      james and i were discussing existence and what the meaning of existence might be. inside of that he suggested i must first determine what is real. i don't know that that is possible exactly; even doing that is an act of faith. so is naming any one colour.

      xo
      erin

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  3. we are made dynamically, and dynamically we grow.

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    1. monica, i can not even begin to imagine how it is that we are made. that we can see! jesus!

      gratefully, we grow)))

      xo
      erin

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  4. I think that if we would be able to don't look beck, we could finally be happy. That's because we can't be happy, the reason why happiness didn't exist.... This is my vision...
    ... Beautifull pics for such beautifull words

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    1. laura, i would love to hear more about this. you bring me back to nostalgia and kundera, where you and i discussed nostalgia a year or more ago. have you read identity he writes more about nostalgia here, in addition to what he wrote in the unbearable lightness of being, although i have to admit it has f-ed me up a bit in reading it. he is so existential.

      happiness - how we have made a muck of ourselves over happiness. we have made it into a modern day commodity, THE modern day commodity. we should have left it in the realm of the moment.

      xo
      erin

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  5. Me dejo atrapar por ut color.
    Un abrazo

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    1. the photos do nothing to reveal the surreal experience of driving past these sticks, damaso. and they change every season yielding a new experience! (this seems somehow impossible.)

      xo
      erin

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  6. winter is the best... it's like the desert, only cold.

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    1. steven, yes! thank god for winter. what the hell would i do with endless summer? i imagine scratch a lot and sweat. not an attractive proposition for anyone. winter seems to strip everything down and allow room for breath.

      xo
      erin

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  7. A colourful text of dreams stops always when a person writes just a caress from God.

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  8. this journey and these questions and this search for the essence of colour, both inside and outside of myself, for the gaze - i am in all these, too.

    (breathtaking, these glimpses of winter and road and colour - i can feel you and the wolf chasing you, in them)

    about happiness, and the moment, and looking back and nostalgia, maybe:

    The trouble with pleasure is the timing
    it can overtake me without warning
    and be gone before I know it is here
    it can stand facing me unrecognized
    while I am remembering somewhere else
    in another age or someone not seen
    for years and never to be seen again
    in this world and it seems that I cherish
    only now a joy I was not aware of
    when it was here although it remains
    out of reach and will not be caught or named
    or called back and if I could make it stay
    as I want it would turn into pain


    W.S. Merwin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))